I've Waited This Long
by Banana Tooth
Summary: Maybe different is good. StellaHawkes, post Snow Day.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **I've Waited This Long

**Author:** Banana Tooth

**Rating:** K

**Spoilers: **Through the Season Three finale.

**Disclaimer:** I am in no way connected with CBS, the CSI Franchise, or its writers, producers, or directors.

* * *

They're not in danger, and they're resting comfortably—as comfortably as possible, anyway. _It's not like Flack, they both have family here. I'll just be in the way if I stay…_

But I don't move. I just don't have the energy. I'm the only one in the little waiting area right now; Lindsay is with Danny and Mac has stepped outside where he can use his cell.

I must have been running on adrenaline all day, and now that I'm alone the whole day seems to come crashing down on me at once. I hear footsteps approaching and look up slowly, as if I'm in a fog, and manage a smile at Sheldon as he enters. "Hey."

"Hey." He sits down beside me, touching my knee. "You look beat."

"I am," I admit.

"But you're okay?"

"Yeah." I look down at my hands, clasped loosely in my lap, and think of the heavy gun, of my finger on the trigger. "You?" My head turns in his direction, but it's too much work to look up at his face and my glance lands on his chest instead.

"Yeah." He must be in the same state as I am, since we can barely manage even a monosyllabic conversation. He stirs and I realize, vaguely disappointed, that he's standing up, because I had hoped he would sit a while with me. He extends his hand toward me and I stare up at him in confusion until he explains, "Come on. I'm taking you home."

I open my mouth to protest, purely out of habit, and then think better of it. He's not Mac, offering a ride even when he lives on the other side of town. My place is on Sheldon's way, really, and besides… I take in his comfortable, reassuring presence as I realize dimly, feeling too tired to process it properly, that I'm not averse to his company right now.

I give my head a little shake to clear it. "Okay," I finally agree, sliding my hand into his.

He has to practically pull me up out of the chair. I follow him out, glad he's there so I don't have to find my way through the maze of hallways trying to get out of here.

We wave goodbye to Flack, down the hall outside Danny's room. His arm is around Lindsay and her face is hidden against his shirt, and I think, randomly, that we seem to hug each other a lot more these days. Of _course, we've needed it a lot more lately…_

Mac is near the elevators and he shuts his phone as we approach. "Hey," he says softly, and Sheldon waits for me a discreet distance away, giving us privacy, as if we're going to _say _anything…

I want to, though. I want to throw my arms around him and sob out my relief that he's safe, tell him to forget London, _I'll_ take him to _Greece…_

Wow. At least I didn't say _that_ out loud.

He sets his hand on my shoulder, gently. "Good work today."

I manage a grin, feeling ready to cry. "Yeah, you too."

"Well, you know…stop a heist, destroy the lab…all in a day's work."

I grin for real this time. "They had done a pretty good job of that before you even started."

"Yeah." His thumb moves against my collarbone. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too. I mean—I'm glad _you're_ okay." _I need to get out of here. I can't even form coherent sentences._

"I was afraid—after we split up—I was so afraid they would find you, and then you show up and save my life." His voice is low and a little raspy and I can't even answer because I know I'll cry for sure. I want to tell him about hearing the shot and being sure it was him, and then seeing him at gunpoint and acting out of sheer _anger_ because they were trying to take him away from me…

I swallow hard, biting my lip, still unable to speak. He squeezes my shoulder and steps back, his tone normal again. "You leaving?"

"Yeah."

"Be careful."

"Yeah. Good night."

"Night." His eyes meet Sheldon's over my shoulder and Sheldon gives a little nod. Usually that's my job, to make sure _they're_ okay. I feel like I should be annoyed—_I can take care of myself_—but somehow I'm not.

As the elevator doors close, I look around the tiny space and can't help but shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. Sheldon's eyes meet mine with understanding, and he gives a rueful little smile as he murmurs, "Maybe we should have taken the stairs."

"For eighteen flights?" I shake my head. "I'm okay." I notice that my hand has unconsciously gone to the spot on my collarbone where Mac's thumb brushed bare skin. It still tingles, almost burns, as if when I look in a mirror there will be a red mark there. I move my hand away. _I am not sixteen._

"Halfway there," Sheldon says reassuringly, but then the doors open and suddenly we're forced to opposite corners as six more people crowd in, including a couple evidently very much at odds.

"What did you say that for?" the woman hisses angrily.

"What was I supposed to say?" demands her husband.

"Now she's going to cut us out of her will, and it's all your fault. I can't believe it. Closest thing we ever have to a lucky break and you screw it up. Should have expected it. When did you ever do anything right? Can't even visit an old lady in the hospital right."

This goes on for nine floors. I look up and catch Sheldon's eyes, sparkling and full of fun, and have to quickly press my wrist to my mouth to keep from laughing. When we reach the ground floor he catches my elbow and holds me back until everyone else has gone on ahead, and then I dare to look at him and we both dissolve into laughter.

"What do you suppose he _said_?"

"Hurry up and die so we can have your money?" he suggests, and I give a rather undignified snort of laughter. Still grinning, we head for the doors. He says goodnight to the girl at the front desk, and she smiles up at him and says goodnight back.

I turn to him as we go out. "Do you miss it? Being a doctor?" I immediately think I shouldn't have put it that way, because of course he still _is_ a doctor.

"Yeah, sometimes," he says with just a hint of a sigh.

"Do you regret it?"

"No." He sounds sure of himself. "I never have."

"I'm glad. You make a great CSI."

He looks surprised, really surprised, at that. "Wow. Thanks."

"I mean it. I don't know what we did without you." It seems a long time ago, thinking back to when he was the ME,

That makes me think about when I first found out about his application to work in the field. I usually shy away from that memory, even though the first part makes me unreasonably happy, remembering how Mac's eyes had moved slowly over me, _checking me out_, and then he'd grinned and said he liked my dress.

But then I always remember that it was Frankie I'd dressed up for, and how I'd been happy for Mac, because he was trying to move on, but with a twinge of pain I tried so hard to ignore. _Ditch her. I'll ditch Frankie_, I wanted to say—but in nicer words, of course—and I almost did, but instead I touched his face and told him to have a good time.

I bring myself forcefully back to the present. We have to take another elevator in the parking garage, and I find that I'm glad to have him here. There's still the elevator in my building to go. _Maybe he'll go up with me… _

_No, _I tell myself sternly. _That's silly. He doesn't need to go all the way up and have to go all the way back down again. Get a grip._

He opens the car door for me and closes it carefully before going around to his side. I steal a glance at him in the dim light as he navigates the tight curves of the garage and think, _He wouldn't mind… _

I lean back against the seat, frustrated and unsettled. His gentle voice breaks the silence. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh. Nothing." I turn my head against the headrest and smile at him. "Thanks for giving me a ride. I really appreciate it."

He says, "You're welcome," and I watch his hands on the steering wheel and think about how sweet he is. How sweet he _always_ is. We don't say much else until he pulls up across the street from my building, and then I don't have to ask him after all, because he just follows me in.

"Last one," he says as, once again, we watch the elevator doors close.

"Yeah," I say a little absent-mindedly, because now I'm wondering _why_ he's coming up—just to check on me? He could have just dropped me off and waited until I got inside. Not that I mind, of course, but still…

We go in and I smile at him a little uncertainly. "I'm going to wash my hands," I announce unnecessarily, heading for the kitchen sink. "Do you want something? Something to eat?"

"No." Suddenly he's right behind me, so close that I can feel his breath stirring my hair, and his hands settle on my shoulders, warm and steady. I bow my head, clutching the towel. I'm shaking a little beneath his hands, and I can't help it.

"Do you—"

"Go ahead and cry."

"What?"

"You'll feel better."

I shake my head. "I'm okay."

"Hey." He turns me around to face him, and he's looking at me the way he does, gentle and reassuring, so I slide my arms around him and lean my face down on his shoulder. And then I do cry, just because I'm worn out and on edge, and I can't stop thinking about everything that happened, and because…

No. I won't admit even to myself that I'm crying about _that_. I pull myself back together after a few minutes, but I stay as I am, spreading my palms against his back. He feels nice, I think—he's more slender than Mac, but he's strong and solid. And a good hugger.

"Feel better?" he murmurs.

I grin against his shirt. "Yeah. You were right."

"Come here," he says, and guides me to the couch and sits down, so I follow his lead. He pulls my feet into his lap and slides off my shoes and his hands go around one foot, his thumbs stroking softly, soothingly. I smile and lean back against my throw pillows, closing my eyes, feeling my tension start to drain away.

"You're good at this," I say sleepily.

"Just one of my many hidden talents."

"Oh really."

"Really."

"What else?"

"I can cook."

"You can?"

"Mm-hm. And I can perform a mean autopsy."

I laugh. "That must make you popular at parties."

"Oh, you have no idea."

He switches to the other foot. I watch him giving my feet the same careful attention he gives to dead bodies, which is…a little creepy, when I think about it. "Do you miss that?"

"What?"

"Being an ME."

"Yeah. Sometimes. It's a lot of fun."

This is getting creepier. I hide my grin. "So do you regret it?"

"No."

"I'm glad…haven't we already had this conversation?"

"I liked it. Let's have it again."

"_Now_ you're just fishing."

He just wags his eyebrows at me. I laugh and lean back into the pillows again, but then his thumb hits a spot just behind the ball of my foot and something like a shock wave races up my calf and sends little shivers all through me. It takes me completely by surprise and I give an involuntary little gasp.

He's instantly concerned and apologetic, his grip loosening. "I'm sorry—"

"No, it was good…you did something with your thumb…"

"This?" he asks, and does it again, and I bite my lip, breathing in quickly.

"Yes."

He grins a little, as if to himself, and does it to the other foot too, and then finishes them both up with loose, circular strokes. "Good?"

"Yeah." I scoot over, snuggling beside him and tucking my legs up. He sets his arm around my shoulders. "Thank you," I whisper.

"No problem."

I reach my arm across his stomach to his other side, hugging myself up to him, and we stay like that for a while. We start to breathe in unison, I notice.

"So…how are you?" His voice is low.

"Okay," I reply, which is not true, and then, just because he's here and he's listening… "I thought I was over it."

His arm tightens. "I know."

"I keep thinking that, and then something like this happens and I'm back where I started."

"I know."

"He's going to _London _with her."

"Yeah."

"I don't know what to do." I didn't mean to say that, and I chide myself for sounding pathetic.

He sighs and replies slowly, "I guess you just have to give it time."

"I've given it a _year_," I say in frustration.

"I know." His fingers squeeze my arm in a little encouraging gesture. "It doesn't help when you have to see the person every day."

Curiously, I pull back so I can see his face. "You sound like you're talking from experience."

He's about to say something, but then he seems to change his mind and he looks down and nods, just a little.

"Really?" I ask, and he nods again. I lean back against him, considering this new information. "How long did it take you?"

He hesitates. "Well…I'll let you know."

"Oh." I truly had no idea. He's never said anything… A thought strikes me. "It's not Peyton, is it?"

He laughs a little. "No."

"Good. Then we'd _really_ be in a mess."

"Yeah…" He draws a long breath. Suddenly I feel guilty.

"Sheldon, I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I always go on and on about it to you, and…" I can't seem to find the right words for what I mean. _The last thing you need is to listen to my problems, when you've got the same ones yourself. _"You can tell me about it if you want. You know that, right?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, and then he says quietly, "Maybe I will. Sometime."

I can hear his heartbeat, and it makes me think of all the nights I spent with Mac, sitting just like this, listening to _his_ heartbeat and breathing and being content to stay with him as long as he needed.

_And now he doesn't need me…_ I nestle my cheek against Sheldon's shirt. "Tell me what happened. In autopsy."

He starts to talk, his voice low and soothing even though it's a tale of bone saws and drawers in the morgue, and I can feel myself drifting off. _Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake,_ I tell myself. _You can't fall asleep like this, you'll both be stiff and sore in the morning. _I know that from experience.

But still I stay as I am, eyes closed, drowsy and comfortable, not really hearing him anymore. I already know what happened, anyway—we all gave our statements to Flack—so I just let his words wash over me, calming my frayed nerves.

Then the next thing I know I wake up with a start, because water is running in the bathroom. _Oh. Just Sheldon, _I realize with relief. I'm curled up on my side, as if he just slid out from under me, and there's a pillow under my head and a blanket over me.

I hear the front door opening. _He's leaving…I've got to tell him thank you… _I'm not entirely awake, but that thought seems fixed in my mind, so I jump up and run after him. He turns in surprise just as I reach him, and I kiss him full on the lips.

And then I jerk away and stare at him in horror. "I—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to do that…"

He's grinning from ear to ear. "It's okay."

"No…you could report me for sexual harassment or something…"

He laughs out loud at that. "Well, I'm not going to." I'm still staring at him. I feel like I'm breathing too fast. "I thought you were asleep," he says.

"I was—I just wanted to thank you before you left."

"Oh. You're welcome."

"Really, Sheldon. Thank you so much. For the ride, and the footrub, and listening to me." He's still grinning. Am I making a fool of myself? "And—I really am sorry for—" I gesture toward him. It's too awkward to say it.

"Listen," he says, growing more serious. "It really is okay. _More_ than okay."

I blink. Does he mean…_that_? Suddenly I feel like I'm too close to him, but I'm watching his face and I don't want to move away. He has a nice mouth. A _kissable_ mouth…

I close my eyes. It's far too late to be thinking like that—in the state I'm in, I'd probably kiss _Danny_ if he were here. I need to let him go.

"So, see you in the morning?" he asks.

"Yeah. Be careful going home."

"I will," he says, standing still. His gaze is bright even though it's shadowed from fatigue, and it holds mine as I lift my hand to his cheek. His stubble is prickly under my fingers—different from Mac's, which is like sandpaper. My eyes drop to his mouth and I slide my thumb lightly across it and his lips part a little. I can actually feel my good judgment fading away as I brush a tiny kiss against his lower lip, but when I pull back a little his eyes are still twinkling, so I lean in again and set my lips against his.

This time it's not really a kiss because I just rest there, not moving. I can feel him grin, and then when I don't move he sets his arm around my waist and kisses me back, and it feels so nice, warm and comforting…

I gasp and pull away. "No, Sheldon…"

My heart breaks a little at his crestfallen expression. "I'm sorry," it's his turn to say, and once again I'm horrified, because I can't _believe_ I just did that to him, and now he's apologizing for kissing me, when I kissed him first…

"No—I mean—I don't want it to be like this." I look at him, pleading with my eyes for him to understand. "I don't want it to be because it's late, and we're tired, and I'm upset…you deserve better than that. We both do."

He nods. "Okay."

"But I didn't mean…" _Be careful. _"I didn't mean never," I finish softly.

His eyes brighten, just a tiny bit, and that's almost enough to convince me right here. I could be happy with him, I know. He would be easy to love, and quick to love back…_No. Stop it. Not tonight._

"Take your time, then," he's saying. "I'll wait." He lifts his hand and traces his fingers along my jaw line, and I close my eyes at his careful touch. His breath is warm as he murmurs, close to my ear: "I've waited this long."


	2. Chapter 2

I stare at the door as it closes behind him, rooted to the floor. I can feel myself blushing all over, and I don't feel quite steady on my feet.

Finally I make myself move. I don't get in bed; instead I curl up on the couch like I was before and lie awake for a long time, hearing his words over and over. _I've waited this long. _How long, I wonder?

I bring my hand to my chin, following the path his fingers took, remembering his kiss, slow and gentle, but with the hint of much more behind it, as if he was holding himself back. Then I remember how his arm had tightened suddenly as he started to deepen the kiss, just before I pulled away. _What if I hadn't?_

I stir restlessly, drawing the blanket up, and start to blush again as I think about how I've told him all about my…situation. _Of course I never would have told him anything if he hadn't seen it first, but…he's so easy to talk to._ I think about how he listens so intently, seeming absorbed in my words, bright eyes holding mine. His eyes are nice—remarkable, really, but different from Mac's, which I'd always thought were the last word in eyes.

_Maybe different is good, _I think as I finally start to drift off.

* * *

But when my alarm sounds, far too soon, it jerks me awake from a familiar dream—a dream of eyes that change from green to blue and back again, of a smile that makes them crinkle up when I manage to coax it out, of a gentle voice with a little rasp to it and big, capable hands.

I limp rather stiffly to my nightstand to shut off the alarm and sit wearily on the edge of my bed, running my hands over my face. I wish I could tell my subconscious mind to _stop dreaming that_ already. It's not helping.

_It's better than the Frankie dreams, _I remind myself. At least those have become less frequent.

* * *

Mac is already there when I get to work. I swallow a grin at the sight of the lab director on his hands and knees on the floor, sifting through broken glass with an assortment of lab techs. _Just something else I love about him._

He gets up when he sees me, moving carefully. I think it's just to avoid disturbing the glass, but it suddenly occurs to me that he must be sore too, that he's sure to be badly bruised. I have to remind myself that he has Peyton to take care of him, and she's a _doctor_, she can do it better than I could anyway. I force myself to focus on what he's saying.

"We need an inventory of the equipment that was damaged—they're working on that." He nods at the techs. "You and Hawkes can find out what evidence was compromised. Is he here yet?"

I shake my head. "I haven't seen him."

"I'm here," Sheldon calls, jogging up. My stomach does a little flip. He grins at both of us, just his usual grin of greeting. _Why does he have so much energy? _

"I was saying, work on finding what evidence was compromised," Mac repeats. "I'm meeting with IAB in a few minutes."

I haven't even had time to think about that part of it yet. "Is it bad?"

"We'll see." I can tell he's not looking forward to it. "They'll want to talk to all three of us." Sheldon and I nod. "Just—answer what they ask. Don't try to skip over anything, that will come back to bite us."

"We know the drill," I assure him. I let myself set my hand on his arm, because this time it really is just a gesture of friendship and support. "You did the right thing, Mac."

"We all did." His eyes go from mine to Sheldon's and back. "Thanks," he says quietly, to both of us.

I want to hug him, and refrain from doing so. Two men in suits are approaching his office. "Good luck," I murmur, and squeeze his arm, and Sheldon swats his shoulder in the way men do, which secretly amuses me.

We watch Mac go into his office and then we turn to each other. His expression is open and honest like always, but I'm all too aware that this is the same man who kissed me in the dim shadows of my hallway, who as good as admitted he was in love with me.

"Sheldon," I begin, but I don't have any idea what to say.

"Wait," he says, holding up a hand. "Let's have lunch today."

I didn't expect that. "Okay."

"We can talk then."

"Okay."

"Right now—looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

"Yeah."

"Hey," he says softly. I hadn't even noticed that I was twisting my hands together nervously until he reaches out and separates them gently, laying them lightly at my sides. "Relax."

Oddly enough, I do. _It's just Sheldon_, I realize. It's silly to feel awkward. Anything that's between us, we can just talk out. And then I stand almost gaping after him, struck by what I had just thought.

"Coming?" he asks over his shoulder.

A smile spreads across my face. "Yeah."

* * *

It ends up being after two o'clock when we're finally able to get away for lunch. He comes to find me after he finishes up his IAB interview. I search his face anxiously. "How'd it go?"

"Not bad, considering." He presses the elevator button. "It—is this okay?"

_Wow, he's really worried about that._ "It's fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." _As long as you're in it with me…_

"It almost seemed like a formality," he continues. "I hope they don't give Mac any flack over it. How was yours?"

"It went well, I thought—I just answered the standard stuff, and they seemed satisfied."

"Good. Maybe they'll shut up and leave us alone."

I grin sideways at him. "I hope you didn't say that to them."

"Oh, you think I shouldn't have?"

"Might not have been the best choice of words."

I watch him as we get off the elevator, he holding the door for me, even though there's no danger of it closing on us. His eyes are laughing—in fact, his whole body language is happy. "Where do you want to eat?" he asks.

"The coffee shop is fine." It needs to be someplace close. I'm about famished.

At the coffee shop, we gravitate to the farthest booth in the back. After the waitress takes our orders, I raise my eyes to his, starting to feel nervous again.

"So…" he begins, his eyes softening. I look at him expectantly, hoping he'll go on, because I still have no idea what to say. "First, I wanted to tell you, I'm _not_ sorry about last night."

I give him a little half-smile, feeling, to my surprise, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. _I'm not sorry either, _I discover.

"But I'm sorry if I—if it seemed like I was pushing you into anything."

I blink, confused. "What?"

"Well…"

"I mean, how were _you_ pushing _me_, when I started it?"

He grins broadly, looking down at his hands. When he looks back up, he's grown serious again. "I just—I wasn't going to _tell_ you."

"Ever?"

"Well—not last night, anyway."

"So…when?"

He sighs a little. "To tell you the truth, I always figured someday Mac would quit being an idiot, and then…"

"Oh." _Then you would be me_, I think, imagining it with compassion. "And then…what?"

"Well, I guess I'd always worship you from afar." He's teasing gently, and I laugh, but I think he's only half-joking. "Or find my own Peyton, maybe."

The waitress comes back with our food. I'm glad for an excuse to look away, to look down at my plate, because I hadn't expected any of this any more than I had expected last night. It's a lot to think about. I feel almost like I'm in a daze.

"Here's the thing." I keep my eyes on my salad as I speak. "And I've been trying to tell myself this for a long time, but…this is what Mac wants, and I guess he's happy. I know Peyton is."

"Yeah." He sounds almost—skeptical.

"What?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

"I just think that _you_ would know, if he were really happy."

"Well, I guess that's up to him to decide." I stop. "Which side are you on, anyway?" He laughs. "You're not presenting a very compelling argument."

"Sorry." He's hiding his smile. "I can do much better, if you want."

"Yes, I know." I mean to say that lightly, but it doesn't come out that way. He looks down. I think he's blushing, and I feel what I recognize as the same sweet swell of affection I've felt so often for Mac, which makes me stare at him for a moment before I take a deep breath and continue.

"Listen." I want to take his hand, but I think better of it. "I want to make sure that I've really moved on, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want a—rebound, or anything like that. I want to do it right this time."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he says softly.

"But you understand, don't you? It's going to take me a while. A long time, maybe."

"I know. Like I said…I'll wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You're an awfully patient person, Sheldon." _I don't deserve that._

"I guess."

"I'm not, you know. Ever."

"I know."

I grin at him. "Hey."

"_You_ said it."

"You didn't have to agree so fast."

He grins too. "Stella…some things are worth waiting for." I smile, dropping my eyes. "But even if you can move on, I don't want you to feel like there's any sort of—obligation. That's why I never said anything before."

His eyes are wide and earnest and I want to kiss him. I imagine leaning across the table, setting my hand behind his head, pulling him toward me… Instead I reach over and skim one fingertip along the length of his thumb, barely enough to even tickle. "Just wait a little while, okay?"

I watch his face transform as his lovely smile spreads across it, deepening the corners of his mouth and illuminating his eyes. "Okay," he says. "No problem."

* * *

It's looking more and more like IAB has decided to heed Sheldon's advice, and it's a big load off Mac. He seems genuinely happy, I decide, watching him in his office as he fills me in on last-minute details, but, to my pleasure, does not tell me how to do his job.

He's excited, in his quiet way, and I'm glad. He's hardly done any traveling since he left the Marines. _And probably never would, if Peyton hadn't made him._

"…And here's the stuff on Allen Fisher, if you need it," he's saying, holding up a folder. "Lindsay said she was following up a lead on that."

"Okay."

"Anything else you need?"

"No, I think that's it. We'll be fine, Mac."

"I know you will," he says, smiling at me, and I smile back.

"So…I hope you have a great time."

"Thanks." He's looking at me almost wistfully, and I realize that I have no idea how to say goodbye to him. I've never had to before, and now…things are different. "Stella, I—thank you. For everything."

_For everything. _I don't know if it's what he's thinking, but my mind flashes back to all those long nights, holding him, waiting for him to stop shaking, praying desperately for him to be all right because I don't know what else to do. I see happier scenes too—the dog show, taking Reed for cheeseburgers, laughing together...and now, saying goodbye in his office, it seems like more than just that, it's more like…

I need to stop before I make myself cry. I go over to him and clasp his shoulders in our usual half-hug, but instead of setting his hand across my back he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight, not letting go. I let my head rest on his shoulder just for a moment, and murmur, meaning it more this time, "Have fun."

"Thanks," he says again.

"And be careful."

"I will."

I pull away enough to see him. He's already getting dark from the sun, I notice. He probably never even thinks about sunscreen. _Well, that's Peyton's department, not mine._

My eyes travel over the beloved lines of his face. _Time to let go, _I think, and my chest hurts. "Goodbye, Mac."

"Goodbye." He steps away, his arms leaving me slowly and his hands lingering at my waist just for a second. He smiles again and I manage to smile back, ignoring the ache in my throat.

Peyton comes in then, and I hug her too, and watch them until the elevator doors close. Then I go around and sit down at Mac's desk and open the Fisher file, looking through it without seeing a thing.

I'm startled by the tap at the door, and look up to see Sheldon. He grins broadly as he comes in and settles easily into a chair. "Well, look at you," he drawls, and I laugh. "I guess you think you're big stuff now."

"You just get ready for my ten-day reign of terror."

"Oh, I'm ready. Bring it on."

But even as he's teasing me his eyes are concerned and compassionate. Suddenly, I have to look away, and I look down at the folder again until he reaches across the desk and brushes the backs of his fingers across mine. I catch his hand and cling to it, hard enough that I must be hurting him, while I stare at the desk and breathe very carefully until the moment passes.

Finally I relax my death-grip but I still hold on, looking down at our joined hands because I'm still unable to meet his eyes. The silence stretches between us until he says, "How was it?"

My voice sounds far away. Once again I let it out without considering whether I should tell him or not. "It felt like saying goodbye forever. Not felt like—that's what it _was_."

His thumb moves against my knuckles. "Stella—"

I shake my head. "Maybe it's good, you know? To give me sort of a breaking-off point…" I have no idea if I'm making sense to him. I'm abruptly aware of the glass walls and I gently pull my hand away. "We should—"

"Yeah." He returns his hand to his lap. I can feel his eyes on me. I take a deep breath and sit up a little straighter.

"Sorry."

"_Don't,_" he says almost sharply, and I finally look at him, in surprise. "You all right?" Now his voice is back to normal and I wonder if I was imagining things.

"Yeah." He's still watching me. It occurs to me to wonder why he came in here in the first place. "So…did you need something?"

"No, I just stopped by to heckle you."

"Nice."

"Actually I was headed out to talk to Chris Taylor's neighbors. Did you want to come?"

"Sure." I get up and come around the desk, and touch his elbow before we get to the door. "Hey." He turns to me. I look out toward the hall, which of course is full of people. They're not paying any attention to us, but still… I turn back to him. "Thanks for listening."

He regards me steadily. Now he looks like _he_ wants to kiss _me_. _The feeling is mutual, _I think, and it's also becoming alarmingly frequent. It's a good thing I've never kissed Mac—really kissed him, anyway—if this is what would have happened.

"Any time. You know that, right?" he adds softly.

I smile at him. "Thank you," I say again, and squeeze his arm, and we go out together.

* * *

I miss Mac, of course, but I think it's just because I'm used to him always being around, always willing to be a sounding board for my latest theory, just like I do for him. And of course, apart from everything else, I just plain _like_ him.

Fortunately, I don't have time to dwell on it. We're pretty swamped with both Mac and Danny away, and most of the time I find myself stuck in Mac's office up to my ears in administrative work while Sheldon and Lindsay run themselves ragged in the field.

I decide I need a break from paperwork so I get up and go to look for Lindsay to find out her progress. Instead I find Sheldon in the layout room, and I pause for a moment to watch him, how he moves easily and gracefully around the table, but I know his intensity that lies beneath, the fervor and strength that make him so good at his job.

I wonder, briefly, if it makes him good in other areas as well…

He looks up with his quick smile as I come in. He's wearing his glasses, which I've always liked for their geekiness. Apparently, I have a thing for geeks. "Where's Lindsay?" I ask.

"She went back out with Flack. Hey, check this out." He practically jogs around the table to show me his lab results, and I almost forget to listen as I watch his shining eyes and the joy he gets just from figuring out some little detail. It reminds me of Mac…especially before Claire died, but also more lately, I've been glad to notice.

I congratulate him on his discovery and head back to my work, wondering when I'm going to stop automatically comparing him to Mac. I don't see how I can, anyway; they're really nothing alike.

But then the more I think about it, the more I see the similarities—they're both quiet and gentle, strong and passionate, smart and dedicated and dependable. _And nice to look at…_I quickly dismiss that thought, but the others stick with me. So many of the qualities I love in Mac, Sheldon has too…

_Maybe I fell in love with the right things, but in the wrong person._

* * *

That night I have a new dream: one of dark eyes and dark skin, and a wide, ready smile. I smile myself when I wake up, and again when I get to work and Sheldon gets on the elevator at the same time. He grins back. "What?" he asks.

"Soon," I tell him.

His grin widens before he sobers and says gently, "Take your time."

"I am," I promise.

We're still grinning foolishly at each other when we get off the elevator. Lindsay is there waiting to go down and she glances from him to me. "What?" she asks.

"Nothing," says Sheldon, most unconvincingly.


	3. Chapter 3

We all go out to dinner on the last night before Mac gets back. Danny and Adam are still on leave, but they meet us there. I hadn't even realized how much I missed them both. It's so good to have everyone back together—except for one, of course.

I look around at the others as they're laughing about some story of Danny's, feeling a little like a mother hen. It makes me think about if Mac really left, if he retired or got promoted, if this is how it would be. Who would take over his place, I wonder—would they offer it to me, or maybe bring in someone else?

Mac and I have talked about this before, and I've told him I'm just not sure I want his job—too much red tape and bureaucracy and politics, and not enough investigating. He certainly agrees with me there, but he's said I would be great at his job. Maybe so, I told him, but I might also hate it.

Somehow, I don't see either Danny or Lindsay in that position. _But Sheldon could do it, _I think suddenly, and the idea surprises me, but then I start picturing him as lab director and the more I do, the more I convince myself. He's as good at being a boss as Mac is, and he's had that kind of experience in the ME's office. He's also frighteningly smart, just like Mac.

I have to laugh at myself. _Mac and Sheldon both will be glad to know I have everything figured out for them. _I bring myself back to the present since Adam is saying good night, and then Danny and Lindsay leave together. It's just Don and Sheldon and me left in the large booth, and I'm not about to budge.

I used to do this with Mac—hanging back while the others left, hoping for just a few minutes alone with him. If that makes me pathetic, then I'm pretty pathetic. Now I'm doing the same thing, and I'm unduly glad when Don gets up to leave. _Nothing personal, Don, really. _

I turn back and meet Sheldon's waiting eyes. "You okay?" he asks. "You're awful quiet tonight."

"Yeah…I was thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"About if Mac left. I think you should take his place."

"What?" He seems astonished. "Why me?"

"Because you'd be good at it."

He sips his drink. "I always thought you were next in line. And _you'd_ be good at it."

I sigh. "I've never quite persuaded myself that I want that position. And this week hasn't done much to convince me, either."

He smiles sympathetically. "I know. Maybe it's just that we're short-handed."

"Yeah."

He reaches over and brushes my hand, in what's becoming a customary gesture between us. "You've done a beautiful job," he says. "I don't think anyone could have done it better."

"Thanks." He has nice hands, I notice…graceful and relaxed, with long, strong fingers. I have a sudden thought—like a vision, except it's _feeling_ instead of _seeing_—of those hands on me, his voice just a low rumble against my skin. I actually shiver a little, and fidget in my seat as a pang settles low in my stomach.

"Do you think he's going to leave?" he asks, and I blink and have to ask him to repeat the question before I comprehend it.

"No…he says he's happy where he is. But he might want to retire sometime."

"I don't know…I can see him working until he's ninety-five."

I laugh. "You never know. Maybe he'll retire to be a full-time daddy."

"Wow." His grin is lopsided. "I can't say I've ever pictured that."

"I can see it," I murmur, mostly to myself.

"Really?" Now his hand wraps around mine, and I nod. "You think they'll have children?" he asks after a moment.

"Oh, I hope so…Mac wants kids. He always has."

He squeezes my hand and I look up at him. "You know…I think you're making progress."

"I told you."

He smiles, looking down at our hands. "So…Danny's next in line for Mac's office, anyway."

"What?"

"Yeah, when Mac set his arm on fire, Danny made him promise he could have the office if Mac died."

I'm shaken by sudden laughter because that's one of the strangest sentences I've heard all day. "All right, tell the truth. That didn't prove anything, Mac just did it because he wanted to play with the stunt gel, didn't he?"

"Absolutely. Don't tell me you're on to the secret workings of the minds of men."

"I think I've cracked the code." I stand up and go to his side of the table, where he just sits, looking up at me in surprise. "Scoot over," I tell him, which he does promptly, and I slide in beside him.

I just wanted to sit with him, I wasn't even going to touch him, but he sets his arm around my shoulders so I lean against him a little. We sit together in silence for a long time and eventually my head finds its way to the curve of his shoulder. I can feel his breath stirring my hair.

Finally I turn my face against his neck and murmur, "We should go."

"Yeah," he says, and doesn't move. I grin and shift against him, and he kisses the top of my head before he lets me go.

* * *

I'm running prints in the lab the next morning when I look up to see Mac leaning in the doorway. "Hi," he says, smiling.

I jump up and go to hug him, and he catches me to him hard, just for a second. He looks rested and happy—younger, even. _I'm guessing the trip went well._ "So how was London?"

"It was good. Really good," he says, with the shy smile I love. He looks past me. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, no, you don't. I want to hear all about it."

He laughs. "That might take a while. Meet me for lunch?"

"Okay." I fill him in on the case, and go back to his office with him to bring him up to date on everything else.

Later we go across the street to the coffee shop for lunch. He shows me pictures on his phone and tells me about where they went and what they saw. I listen, fascinated, but with a corner of my brain I note with pleasure that I'm genuinely happy for him. He's adorably shy when he shows me a picture of the two of them in front of a fountain, arms around each other, and my first thought is _she's so pretty. _

"You make such a cute couple," I say lightly, handing the phone back, but I really do mean it.

He gives a little embarrassed sort of laugh—I doubt he gets called "cute" very often—and says, "Thanks."

We're still talking when we both get called out, and it doesn't occur to me until later that I went a whole lunch without wanting to kiss his chin.

* * *

I make myself wait a while longer, just to make sure. I grow more and more impatient, but I keep reminding myself of what I told Sheldon: I want to do things right this time.

But finally one morning I catch him alone in the locker room just as he's coming in, look around carefully, and ask, "Do you have plans tonight?"

"No, why? Do you want to do something?"

"Could we go out?"

"Sure," he agrees readily.

"On a _date_?" I clarify, feeling a little foolish that my heart is pounding like it is.

He glances around too, and steps closer to me, his eyes shining. "You sure?"

"Yes."

His gaze holds mine as he takes my hand and lifts it slowly to his lips, brushing a kiss across my fingers. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he whispers.

_And it was just that simple_, I keep thinking all day. In retrospect, I probably should have given him a little notice, but he didn't seem to care. All I had to do was ask.

_So simple. _And so refreshing, because I'm tired of everything being complicated. _This is how it should be…_

* * *

"You seem awful happy today," observes Danny.

"I am."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Yes."

"Something good?"

"Yes," I answer, and go on dusting for prints.

"Fine, then. _Don't_ tell me," he grumbles, and I laugh at him.

"I won't," I promise.

* * *

Of course we end up working late, so we just go together for dinner when we finally get off. I had wanted to go home and change, and go someplace nice, just to make it special. But I realize, as we sit grinning at each other in the little Italian place Sheldon suggested, that none of that even matters.

"You know," he murmurs, looking down at his plate, "I've always dreamed of this."

"Always?" I ask lightly, because I don't really know what to say to that.

He looks up at me, his eyes dark, and then back down. He doesn't answer for a long time, but finally he begins softly, "When I was in the ME's office, I used to watch you and be amazed how you could even light up a _morgue_, just by walking in. No one else I knew could do that."

A sweet ache settles in my throat as I stare at him. Just like that, I'm close to tears. "Sheldon…why didn't you ever _say_ anything?"

He's not eating, but he keeps his eyes on his food. "When I first knew you, I thought you and Mac were a couple."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I used to think what a good job you did keeping it professional at work."

I smile. "You were right. That's something we always were good at." He gives a tiny laugh. "So when did you know we weren't?"

"I just gradually found out, I guess. But after that, I sort of figured out how you felt."

"And I…" _Helpfully told you all about it. _And he was right, anyway—if he had tried, I would have gently turned him down, and maybe lost him forever. "I'm sorry, Sheldon…"

"Don't." He cuts me off as his hand covers mine, warm and firm. "It doesn't matter. We're here now."

* * *

We leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. "Want to see a movie?" he suggests.

_Why yes, I _would_ like to sit next to you in a darkened room._ "Sure."

He twines our fingers together again as soon as we sit down, and I can feel his shoulder brushing against mine and my heart starts to beat too fast again, just from being near him. After a while he shifts my hand to his other one so he can lay his arm across the back of my seat, and by the end of the movie my head is on his shoulder and his arm is surrounding me. We sit all the way through the credits, even though they go on forever, until we're the very last ones left.

Then I suggest we go for coffee, even though it's late, because I don't want the evening to end. But finally we find ourselves outside my building, and now it's even later, and we have to be at work all too soon.

"Well…" he begins.

"Come up for a minute?" People are in and out of my building at all hours, and I'm not going to kiss him standing out here. And after gazing at that mouth all evening, I'm _going_ to kiss him.

"Just for a minute," he agrees, and I lead him in.

* * *

By the time we get to my floor, I have butterflies in my stomach and my heart is pounding once again, which is silly, because it's just Sheldon. Except that's the reason: it's _Sheldon_.

I close my door and turn to face him a little uncertainly, not sure what he's expecting. He steps a little closer and I picture him kissing me up against the door and my knees feel weak.

"Just a second," I murmur, and step out of my heels and nudge them aside. "There, that's better."

He laughs. His sudden, broad grin—_so beautiful_—shines in the soft lightfrom the lamp I always leave on. "You got something to say, Bonasera?"

I laugh too, feeling myself start to relax. "Just making an observation."

He takes another step toward me, so close now that I can feel his warmth. My back brushes against the door. "Can I take your hair down?" he asks softly.

I'd put it back in a ponytail earlier at work. I would have taken it down for him already, if I had known. "Sure."

He reaches both hands behind my head and his fingers find the elastic band, disentangling it gently and pulling it free. He doesn't even snag it as much as I would have myself. Then he pulls back just a little, caressing the strands that fall around my face. "I was thinking," he murmurs, "about what kinky-headed kids we would have."

I grin. "Yes, they'll be doomed, won't they?"

He laughs suddenly and leans his forehead against mine. "It also occurs to me that I might be jumping the gun a little."

"That's okay."

He draws back so he can see me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leaves it at that, and I don't care; he can take it however he wants. And I can't think very clearly anyway, because when he sets his hand along my face a sweet, sharp pang flashes through me, and then I'm tingling all over. My eyes close as his thumb strokes my cheekbone, whisper-light. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and his fingers slide down the side of my neck, _so_ slowly, and across to the hollow between my collarbones.

He seems almost in a daze, staring at the spot as he traces tiny circles with his fingertips. "May I kiss you?" he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

"Yes." _Please please please. _

To my surprise, he lowers his fingers a little and leans his head down and kisses me there. And it's not exactly a kiss, either, because he sets his parted lips against my skin and closes them slowly, and my head bumps back against the door and I whimper out loud.

His face is still against my neck and I can feel his lips moving on my skin as he says, "You okay?"

"Mmm." I hope he takes that as an affirmative because it's all I can get out, and it still sounds like a whimper.

"Your pulse is racing."

_Nerd. _I bring my hand to the back of his head and raise it so I can see his eyes. "That's what you do to me."

He does kiss me then. It's slow and sweet, but I can feel the intensity hovering just below the surface, like I observed that day in the lab. I wonder what it would take to get him to _let go_, to stop holding back, but judging from what happened earlier that's probably not something to pursue this late on a weeknight. So I just pull him in, feeling his closely-cropped hair rough beneath my palm, and kiss him back like I've wanted to do so often.

Then his lips move across my cheek as he leaves little kisses all the way to my ear and down along my jaw line, while with my other hand I clutch his shoulder because I'm trembling. I think about lonely nights and poor substitutes (Frankie) and about wanting the wrong thing, when what I really wanted was right under my nose. And then I think _this is Sheldon_, and _I love you,_ and _everything's going to be all right_, and the sense of release is so strong that tears sting my eyes and slide down my face.

He pulls back in alarm. His face is wet with my tears. "Stella…"

"No, it's good…" I can't find the words to explain so I just pull him back to me, almost desperately. "_Please,_ Sheldon…"

And he lets go. It's not slow or soft this time, it's hard and fierce as his lips find mine again and he crushes me against the door. His hands are on my shoulders and arms and sides and he's kissing me again and again and I can't get my breath and if he thought my pulse was racing _before_…

His hand goes behind my head and holds it fast as he moves to my chin and then he tips my head back as he travels down my neck again, almost roughly, so that I worry he might leave marks, and I don't care. Then his mouth slides back up, hot against my skin, and back to my mouth and his teeth graze my lower lip and I cry out, my fingers digging sharply into his arms.

When I can breathe again, he's standing with his cheek against mine, motionless except for his own labored breathing. "I think my minute is up," he murmurs.

_You're not getting away that easily._ I fold my arms tight around his waist and turn my face toward him, kissing him just below his ear. "You're pretty good at this, you know."

"Thanks. It's another one of the talents."

"Okay, that's it. I want to see a complete list of these talents."

"Sorry." He's kissing me now where my neck meets my shoulder. "You just have to discover them…one by one…"

I can't seem to formulate any reply to that, or think about anything at all but the little shocks and tingles that are starting over again. But he stops, all too soon, and straightens so I can see him and grins at me, his eyes drowsy. "Hi," he says.

I laugh. "Hi."

"I really do need to get going."

"Yeah."

"Sounds kind of stupid, but…I had a good time tonight."

I smile, struggling even to remember the rest of the night, before we came in and shut the door. "Yeah. Me too."

"So, see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." I stroke his back, my cheek on his shoulder. He's never going to get out the door at the rate—not that I care. At last he pulls away from me gently. "I need to go."

"You've only said that seven times."

"I'm actually going this time." He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and kisses me softly. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

* * *

It's probably two months later when Mac and I are together in his office, chatting about the case, sliding into our comfortable patterns of conversation. More comfortable than ever now, I think, because I'm not distracted or trying not to daydream the whole time, because now I have Sheldon _and_ I have my best friend. _Things have a way of working out…_

Sheldon taps on the door and comes in. "Prints came back," he says, handing the sheets to Mac.

"Thanks." Mac's eyes follow him as he leaves, and then he turns back to me. "So…" he begins slowly. "How are you?"

I look at him for a moment, wondering why he's asking now, but then I start to grin and I can't help it. "I'm great, Mac. Really great."

He smiles, looking down. "I'm glad," he says simply.

"How are you?"

"I'm…" He looks back up at me. "I haven't been this good in a long time."

We smile at each other for a moment. I can't think of exactly what to say but it doesn't matter, because we've always been able to converse with our eyes. I get up and go around to his side of the desk. "Come here," I say, and when he stands up I wrap my arms around him.

He hugs me back, and I lean against him and wonder how he even _knew_, because we haven't told anyone yet…but, of course, I knew about Peyton long before he thought I did. "I love you, Mac," I murmur.

"I love you, too," he says, and kisses my cheek as he pulls away.

* * *

I go to find Sheldon, and discover that he's seen the whole thing through the glass and now he's grinning from ear to ear. "What was that?" he asks. "A relapse?"

"No." I squeeze his arm as we head for the locker room. "It was…well, everything's okay now."

His arm is around me suddenly, tight enough that I can hardly breathe. "I'm glad," he whispers. I laugh—to his bewilderment—and kiss him, and let him go in case someone walks in on us.

As we approach the elevator, I bring up the idea that's had me in its grip all day. "So I've been thinking…I think _we_ should go on a trip."

"What, to London?"

I laugh again as he presses the button for the ground floor. "Maybe not London." I feel shy, for some reason, but I'm going to ask him. "Would you maybe like to go to Greece, sometime?"

"I would love that."

"Really?"

"Really. Of course, I'd go to…Death Valley, with _you_."

"Wow. Death Valley or Greece. I don't know how to decide."

He grins. "I've heard that Greece is beautiful."

"Yeah."

"We could go there for our honeymoon," he suggests. Just like that.

"Are we going on a honeymoon?" I ask in surprise, hiding my smile.

He suddenly seems to realize what he said. "Well, I mean—if we…"

I start to laugh and kiss his earlobe, murmuring, "I would be glad to go on a honeymoon with you."

He buries his face against my neck just for a second before the elevator stops. We step out still holding hands, and don't even stop when we run into Danny. He twitches in confusion and grumbles, "Am I the last to hear about _this_, too?"

"Not quite," I tell him, and Sheldon slaps him on the back, and we leave him standing there as we walk out together.


End file.
